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[Verse 1: FreeJC]
Tick tick tick I'm a time bomb that's countin'
When I blow up, boom, I'll be higher then the mountains
Kapow, my success will hit harder than a hook to the jaw
Get paid from gettin' booked, then ima book to the mall
Boy, ya don't need a scope to see that you be bitin'
Like a southpaw, I could never see you be writin'
Bitch do it your way, I'm still colder than Norway
And I only just started fuckin' with you like foreplay

[Verse 2: IATG]
Money$Team back to rap on you Barbie ass hoes
Just look at the platinum plaques, you can’t harm me asshole
I’m everything that you’ll never be, I’m petulant, testily
Still committing ill felonies while fulfilling my destiny
I’m beating this beat: call me Chris Brown
Call me Jay Sean ‘cause I puts shit down
And I’m on point, like the Eiffel tower
I’ll make it rain on your wife, call that shit a bridal shower

[Verse 4: Stormium]
Used to rollin' in the money, but now I'm reppin' it
Call me John Wayne, ain't a Quiet Man but I got the True Grit
Intro like a Bun-B turd, Nappy's got that trill shit
Fuck with Money get your wrists slit, starin' contest with a drill bit
Creatin' lines like a Croatian, iller than Ebola
Pickin' up where JC left off, these lines E-Coli, Cholera
No practise, all game, call me Allan I, Balla'
Your silver's 3 inches, our platinum 6 times talla'
Your shit lower than the roof of a Haitian, this is graduation
Money Team, that's the corporation, where's our ovation?
This shit's a nation, we eatin', you starvation
You ball? Disqualification, this is Money$Team salvation

[Verse 5: Linus]
Where I'm from, we catchin' bodies on the regular
Get dusted, eat some crackers, but not the degular
Came from Yugos, Geo Storms, Neons and Gremlins
My current whip's attractin' fine women with da pretty linen
Fleet of Maybachs tearin' up the asphalt
When we roll up, ain't shit bouncin' on the ball court
Puffin' so much loud, our lungs need subtitles
Ridin' big booty bitches, gurl, I need a bridle
I move rico from the phone, ship it to they home
I break the rules, but I free more blacks than James Cone
Howard Thurman, Cornel West, Karen Baker-Fletcher, dat cracka Rob Bell
(Bawse!) Weddin' God to the yayo
85 deep, boy, you know how we roll!

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